


Liar Liar

by Leticheecopae



Category: Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, M/M, Minor Violence, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leticheecopae/pseuds/Leticheecopae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because they are already dead doesn't mean they can't die. Even zombies and ghouls will be put in the ground for good one day, and demons will linger on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liar Liar

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really love these three. As always enjoy and sorry for any small mistakes.

“You’re going to outlive us both, Lock, you know that.” 

It’s not a question, but a statement. There is no sorrow, no pain, just fact. Shock lays next to you, and what little warmth she produces makes her feel similar to a freshly dead corpse. Not cold, just cool, and she is barely touching you when she speaks. She doesn’t like to hold you afterward, or be held. Shock has always been just fine lying on her side of the mattress, plucking at tears after you fulfill her sexual needs. She doesn’t even bother to cover herself anymore; her body open to the air. You can see a few new boils starting, a mole under her right breast. Her fingernails are ragged, hair greasy as burnt fat, and her skin is a sickly green.

She is horrid, and you love her for it; at least, as much as you can.

“Your point?” Your tail flicks behind you, the sharpened tip still smearing with the slightest bit of congealed green. You can’t see the cut on her thigh, but you know where it is, probably already coagulated and ugly. Part of you wants to see it, dig a nail in, and watch it bubble up bile like.

“You know my point, Lock.” The pointed look she gives you makes you want to shiver. She makes you think of a vulture. Her nose is long and sharp, taking up more room than it probably should. The little black eyes on either side of it follow everything at once, never missing a thing, while her torso is bone thin with the slightest of breasts. Her hips are the only thing that ever gained any weight to them, the only things that ever grow, and they are smeared with her greenish blood. It’s not your fault those hips are perfect for latching onto while you fuck her, but she’s never complained about the claw marks; she likes them too much.

Shock keeps staring at you until you finally have to roll onto your back and look at the ceiling. You know what she means, what she’s asking you without asking it.  
What will you do when we’re gone? Where will you go? How will you survive without us? They aren’t questions you want to think about, but she will keep asking them. Demons live longer than any other thing, besides maybe vampires and skeletons, in Halloween town. Witches have a decent lifespan compared to most, but zombies and ghouls, well, they don’t last long. Not without fresh meat, and even with all the illegal activities the three of you do, you know that you can’t expand Barrel’s life more than a hundred years or so with the few and far between human feedings.

“I’ll think of something,” you murmur as you stare at the ceiling. There is a shifting next to you, and for a moment you think she might touch you, steal some of the horrid heat that is always drifting off of you, kiss your horns and lick your neck; but she doesn’t. Instead, she is getting up, walking away to grab her skirt and shawl off the floor. They still have blood stains on them from last night.

“Think fast,” she grunts as she puts her clothing on, drowning herself in fabric, hiding away the new marks and the old. The claw marks are all yours, but the bite marks, those are Barrels. “Because I’m not coddling you when he’s gone.” You just stare at her and blink slowly and say nothing. She looks at you again, eyes cold like always, though you know somewhere in all that ice and decay she feels something for you; for Barrel.

“I know where I stand Lock,” She says it with a wicked little smile. “You may be sleeping with us both, spilling both our blood, but you only ever say one of our names when you’re breathing fire.” You hate that she calls it that, but Barrel had to agree with her when she first said it. You heat up so much when you cum, and when you breathe out Barrel says he can almost see the flames licking the back of your throat; taste them when you kiss him. It makes the air ripple and steam around you, and it’s one of the few times you feel uncomfortable at the fear in their eyes.

“Say what you mean, Shock,” you growl, sitting up to put your elbows on your knees, legs spread. You will not cower before her; you will not show weakness.

“I mean this,” and she walks forwards, skirt sifting dust and spreading a pattern like snake tracks along the floor. “The day we put him in the ground, for good and not for fun, is the day that the fire in you is going to go out.” She pokes at your stomach hard with a bony finger, but you don’t flinch, don’t pull away. “You feed off of him as much as you do souls,” she says, eyes leveling with yours. “And you come to me when he puts too much heat in your belly.”

“Just spit it out, I hate when you talk in damn tongues.” The words are dark with heat behind them. You don’t know where she is going with this, but you don’t like it, don’t know if you want to hear it because Shock has never been wrong when she talks about you. She can read you and Barrel better than any of her spell books and can bend you to her whim without a single incantation. Boogie had always had it in his mind you would be leader, but he was wrong.

“You’re weak, Lock,” and the words are so matters of fact they almost startle you. “Both of you are. You need something to latch onto to live.” This time when she touches you, it’s hard not to shiver. She's so damn cold without any of your heat left in her. “Me, I don’t need shit, and you both know that.” 

You do, always have.

“But a witch is stronger with a coven, and you two are better than any of the decrepit old bones in the town, so I threw my lot in with Boogie.” She traces a finger up your arm, pressing against what would be a pulse point if you had a heart. “With you.”

Silence tries to encroach. Shock kills it quickly with sharp words. “You’re the closest things I’ve had to family since Boogie bit the big one, and even then you’re nothing more than pets.” The words come out as a delighted hiss, and you do shiver from the sound. “And when Barrel goes, he is going to eat you alive, fill you up with heat, and tear you apart. When that happens, you’ll either let it and go out with him, or you’ll burn up, smolder out, and keep going with the barest little flame left in that pathetic body of yours.”

“You’re fucking point Shock?” You are shaking when you say it; teeth clenched hard. You know her point, you don’t want to, but you do. Your trembling makes her give you a rare, sad smile.

“My point is that I can’t be your kindling when he’s gone, Lock.” Her fingers are gone, and she’s leaving when you blink at her. “If you try, I’ll snuff you out like a candle in the wind.” Then she’s gone, her bare feet making no noise on the splitting wood of your hallway as you just sit on the old mattress, skin sizzling in anger. She’s wrong; you want to believe she’s wrong, that you wouldn’t fall to pieces without Barrel, that you could do it just you and her. You have to. You can’t be that weak, can’t be that…

“Hey,” you jerk your head up and find nothing but skin and bones looking back at you. Barrel doesn’t wear a shirt anymore, at least not at home. He likes it too much when you count his ribs when you’re bored. You swear the number is always changing, going anywhere between 13 to 18.

“Fuck off, Barrel,” you growl and try not to stare at his hips bones. They could be knives how they cut through the dark, accented by the black cloth of his pants. There are no belts small enough to keep his pants from sliding down to just above the point where hair that mimics the color of old moss peeks out. He wears suspenders now when he is fully clothed, tying them behind himself like a strange tail when he isn’t. You like to snap them against his ass when he isn’t paying attention.

He doesn’t say anything as you finally tear your eyes away and stare at the rotting wood of your home. There is barely any noise as he pads over to you, then the sound of metal clinking and fabric sliding off his body.

“I said fuck off Barrel,” you say again, but he keeps coming, and you keep staring at nothing. Then there are hands on your shoulders, bone white skin with too many small scars in your face, and dry lips in your hair. He is cold, almost icy, but unlike Shock, you know you can warm him up; you can make him burn.

“The hell did I just say,” you groan and grab bare hips. You mean to shove him off, but instead, you dig in, feel the bone slicing into your skin like its brightness in the dark.

“Yeah yeah, fuck off,” he mimics and licks at your horn and runs his fingers over your shoulders and neck. The feeling lingers a moment before you pull back, let go of one hip to grab the back of his skull and pull him down hard for a kiss. His mouth tastes like copper, decay, and candy. You pull back.

“I don’t fucking need you,” you growl even as he lowers himself, the hand on his hip doing nothing to stop him as he situates himself in your lap, hips grinding up against yours. It’s the hardest thing in the world not to shudder.

“Liar,” he says it with a smile that makes your blood boil and cock twitch as you dig in your claws and he lets out a delighted little hiss.

“I don’t,” you insist and he just hums a little sound as he kisses you again and you bite his lips bloody. You can feel his flesh under your hands heating, the way his cool skin grows warm like gravestones in the sun. He is hard against your belly, and you are hard against his.

“Whatever you say, Lock,” he chuckles against your mouth, the sound hitching as you slide a clawed hand over his ass to shove an un-slick finger inside him. He lets out a shuddering breath as you barely prep him, pull him over your cock, and slide him down. The screams and pants he lets loose make you go faster, and he begs for it, for your heat, for the pain. Soon you are both nothing more than a giant ball of fleshy fire, him slamming himself down as you jackhammer upwards, panting heat and flames over his chest while he moans and cries out.

“Oh fuck, Lock, oh fuck,” he says through gritted teeth as you claw his hips, drawing blood. He leans forwards and licks your neck, and there is a sizzling sound as his saliva burns off. Barrel bites hard onto your throat. The teeth in your flesh do little to stop you from growling his name. He moans yours into the torn flesh as you fill him with heat, and he splatters over your chest.

You collapse, holding him to your chest as you watch clouds of steam roll off you both, making the room hazy. You shift, still deep inside him, and wonder if you made him bleed again. If you could feel guilt you probably would, but then again, you know he loves to bleed.

“Fuck if I can walk after that,” Barrel says shakily against your chest, “I’m sleepin’ here.” Your only response is to hold him tighter and close your eyes. He doesn’t even try to get you to pull out, and you only slip from him when you are soft. His breaths are slow and shallow against you, his body warm from yours, and staying that way. You look at him through half lidded eyes and rub your hand through short green hair as his cheekbones cut into your shoulder.

“I don’t need you,” you whisper.

You’re a demon. You should be better at lying.


End file.
